


You Know My Name

by squilf



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Crossover, Headcanon, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 18:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squilf/pseuds/squilf
Summary: “Tell me your name.”





	You Know My Name

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble, inspired by [this terrifyingly accurate tumblr post](http://sarcasticdumpling.tumblr.com/post/35418334543/i-believe-that-qs-full-name-is-actually-hamish).
> 
> Originally posted [on tumblr](https://squilf.tumblr.com/post/35722489860/you-know-my-name) in 2012.

****“Tell me your name.”

It’s a whispered request, the voice low and rasping. Q swallows. Bond’s lips are at his throat, his jawline, his collarbone, warm and wet, and with the sting of his teeth. Q takes in a shuddering breath, eyes flickering shut. He tries to focus. He can’t do this. He really _can’t_. He’s MI6’s youngest Quartermaster, for God’s sake. He can’t risk his career by letting disreputable field agents push him up against the wall of his office after hours and have their way with him.

“I’m afraid,” he says, his voice wavering slightly, “That would be breaking protocol.”

He opens his eyes, sees Bond’s cold blue ones looking back at him, pupils blown wide, lids heavy.

“007,” Q  adds, short and curt, like a punch.

Bond smiles, a dry twist of his mouth.

“I’m no expert,” he says, dropping a word in between each kiss to Q’s neck, “But. I’d hazard a guess that sleeping with field agents is breaking protocol.”

“What makes you think I’m going to sleep with you?” says Q, sharp and indignant.

Bond’s hand, hot and heavy, trails down Q’s chest, his stomach, presses down hard against his groin.

“This,” he says simply.

Q’s breath catches in his throat, and he bites down on his lower lip.

“You can’t always get what you want.”

“No,” says Bond, leaning in, “But I usually do.”

“Is that right?”

Q smiles, lips wet and red, and kisses him. It’s hard and fast, tongue and teeth. Q digs his fingers into Bond’s jacket and slams Bond against the wall, holding him there with hands and teeth and his whole body, pressed up against him.

“Well, not today, you don’t,” Q says against Bond’s lips, and pulls away.

Bond tries to hold onto him, but he slips out of his grasp like smoke. Q turns his back, heading towards the door, a smile playing on his lips.

“At least tell me your name,” Bond calls after him.

Q pauses, one hand on the door. He twists back round to look at Bond, panting and dishevelled, leaning against the wall.

“The name’s Hamish Watson-Holmes,” he says, “And the address is 221B Baker Street.”

With that, and a wink, he pushes the door open, and leaves.


End file.
